


hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again (zayn/ziam)

by ohsaehun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Brain Cancer, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Terminal Illnesses, Zayn Death, Ziam AU, not my work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsaehun/pseuds/ohsaehun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stay," Liam whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Zayns' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Zayn stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again (zayn/ziam)

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my work. All I did was revise it to make it a ziam fic. The original larry fic is by phantasmagoria (whiteteethteen). You can reach her on her tumblr @ tomlintokes and her twitter @phantasmcgoria.
> 
> Yes, I have permission from the author to post this. (You can check her twitter)
> 
> My twitter: @liamsblue

It starts with the headaches.

Which isn't  _so_ unusual, really — they're on break, technically, but it's still weeks on end of being shuttled from one place to another with interviewers gabbing in their ears, repeating the same goddamned questions over and over and fucking  _over_  and it's so exhausting Zayn thinks he might explode if one more person asks how his relationship is going.

Fine, he answers. Great, even. It really is. Just not with Perrie.

They don't need to know that, though.

And they don't, but they still keep asking, and three weeks into promo Zayn truly feels like his head is going to explode, like his brain is pulsing right against his skull. It's horrible and no matter how many cigarettes he smokes or pain pills and glasses of water and tea he swallows it doesn't let up; the pain subsides some but never truly goes away.

It's frustrating, but not alarming. Not yet. 

 

 

 _Home_ , Zayn thinks.  _Home_. He just can't wait to get home, where he can kick off his jeans and curl up under the covers and close his eyes and sleep for an hour or maybe ten until his brain is fully rested and not feeling like it's about to bust through his skull. But for now he's trapped in the back of a car with Liam and a driver who apparently doesn't understand that silence is golden.

If he were in a better mood, Zayn might just engage him in conversation, talking excitedly and laughing at his poor excuses for jokes but right now he's just not in the mood, and Liam notices. Of course he does. Liam notices everything. 

"Your head again, hm?" Liam mumbles, lips pressed to Zayn' temple. Zayn just nods weakly, making a soft whining noise and cuddling into Liam's side. His head is still throbbing, but with his face buried in Liam's stupid, expensive leather jacket, it's a little better because all he can smell is Liam, all warm and familiar and  _home_. God, he can't wait to get home. 

 

They arrive at their flat just as Zayn has started dozing. Liam thanks the driver, quick and polite - always so professional, he is - before looping a hand over Zayn' shoulder and tugging him towards the door, urging him to be quick. Nobody knows where  _this_  flat is, but there's always been the chance of someone catching sight of them and following them home. Their drivers are usually good about making sure they aren't followed, looping around the neighborhood until any hangers-on are hopelessly confused, but Liam likes to be sure, anyway.

Zayn toes off his shoes as soon as he's through the front door, making a beeline for the couch and burying his face in a terribly tacky and uncomfortable decorative pillow. He feels the couch dip slightly under Liam's weight as he sits down next to him, warm hand on his back, smoothing down his shirt and Zayn feels all the tension leave his body, turning to give Liam a grateful smile.

Liam grins back, all dimples and teeth, patting his lap invitingly and Zayn loves him so much he could die as he crawls over and rests his head in Liam's warm lap. Liam's hands are on him before he's even gotten settled, fingers stroking through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly. Zayn hums appreciatively, nuzzling into Liam's hand. 

"Good, boo?" Liam asks gently, fingers pressing lightly on his temple and Zayn manages a soft  _uh-huh_  before he drifts off, wrapped up in Liam's touch and scent and it almost scares him to think he'll never be as happy as he is when he's in Liam's arms. 

 

 

When he wakes up, the sky outside the window is dark, his head is still in Liam's lap,  _The Notebook_  is playing on the television, and he has to puke.

It's, like. His head is throbbing, pain no longer dull but sharp and clawing at every inch of him, and he can feel it, can feel it crawling up his throat and he doesn't even have time to give Liam a fair warning before he jerks himself away, staggering towards the hallway bathroom and he knows he won't make it to the toilet so he aims for the sink, instead, spewing breakfast and lunch and the really good iced tea he'd been drinking in the car into the pretty marble sink with the shiny silver faucet. 

He barely has time to recover before he hears Liam's footsteps approaching, socked feet on carpet and then a large hand is on his back, heat seeping through his shirt and coming to curl around his spine like a napping cat. 

"Hey," Liam says gently, moving closer so his hip is bumping Zayn' waist, smoothing back the sweaty fringe from Zayn' forehead and Zayn is still gasping, out of breath, knuckles white as he clutches the edge of the counter. The pain is a little better now, reduced to a dull ache, like his head is being very,  _very_  slowly squeezed by a vice instead of, say, crushed under the weight of an anvil. "Babe," he tries again, fingers gently tugging at his bicep. "What can I do?"

 

When he can finally breathe again, nausea still coming and going in waves, Zayn croaks out, "Water. Please." Liam is nodding, out the door and clomping on down the hall towards the kitchen before Zayn can press his back against the wall, sliding to sit on the cool tiled floor. It feels wonderful against his burning skin and he shifts so he can lay down, pressing his temple and he has to bite back a groan of relief, eyes slipping shut. It's so  _nice_. It'd probably be nicer if it weren't the tile in their guest bathroom, but he's going to take what he can get.

He's so lost in the feeling of the freezing tiles soothing his throbbing head that he doesn't even Liam coming back down the hallway until he's at Zayn' side, panic-stricken voice slicing through the quiet like a knife and Zayn jerks up, only to find Liam with one hand clutching a glass of ice water, the other pressed over his chest like he's nearly had a heart attack.

"Sorry," Zayn mumbles, embarrassed, but not too embarrassed to pry the glass from Liam's hand and take an almost painfully large gulp of water. "Just resting. Felt nice on my head."

Liam's eyes are wide, still coming down from the fright of finding his boyfriend lying motionless on the bathroom floor, but he cracks a tiny smile anyway. "You goof," he mutters, fingers smoothing across Zayn' forehead. Checking for a fever, Zayn realizes, practically swooning at the gesture. 

"You don't feel warm," Liam says finally, standing and extending a hand to Zayn, pulling him up and promptly sweeping him off his feet, gathering him up in his arms. 

"Liam," he protests weakly, slamming tiny fists against Liam's broad chest in vain. "Let me down."

Liam just grins, that little shit, and carries him up the stairs, depositing him gently onto their shared bed like he's precious cargo before crawling onto the bed next to him, lying on his belly and kicking his legs up, crossing and uncrossing them like a child. It's ridiculously endearing and Zayn kind of wants to kiss him.

"Liam," Zayn repeats, rolling over so as to get some distance from his favorite boy in the world. "'M sick. Gonna get you all germy."

Liam chuckles fondly, rolling over so he's just as close to Zayn as when he started. "Don't care. Gonna take care of you, boo." He rests a warm hand on Zayn' belly and his stomach flutters when he realizes yet again just how  _large_ Liam's hands are, covering almost the entire span of his torso. Liam notices too, murmuring a fond, "So little. My little Zaynie."

And, yeah. Zayn could get used to this. 

 

 

What he hasn't gotten used to, however, is the constant vomiting. Emphasis on  _constant_. It's been just over a week since he first emptied the contents of his stomach into the sink in the downstairs bathroom, but it's just getting worse. It feels like every time he's puked his guts and then some into the toilet there's another brick weighing down his stomach, bile burning his throat. Eventually, he gives in and drags a pillow and blanket into the bathroom he shares with Liam and camps out in the tub.

When Liam finds him there, cocooned in blankets in the porcelain tub, half-asleep and drooling just a bit, he does two things. First, he laughs. Second, he scoops Zayn up and before Zayn can even protest he's in the fucking doctor's office with Liam's fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand, feeling more nauseous than he ever did in his little bath fort. 

But it's nothing. The doctor checks his vitals, asks about his symptoms, tells him to get lots of rest, drink lots of fluids and take some Advil. That's it.

Zayn' glare on the way home nearly burns a hole in the back of Liam's head.

 

It's been four days of following the doctor's orders to an exact t, but the pain is Zayn' head is worse than ever, like his brain is going to come oozing out his ears any second. Liam nearly laughs till he cries at the analogy, but still follows the outburst with a, "Sorry, baby. Here, let me help," and resumes massaging Zayn' scalp with gentle fingers. It helps more than Zayn cares to admit, but the second Liam's fingers are gone the pain seems to triple, so extreme at times he sees stars. 

"Gonna make you another doctor's appointment in the morning," Liam mumbles later that evening when they're curled up under the covers, seeing how long they can procrastinate until Liam has to go make them something to eat. "Hate seeing you like this."

"Me too," Zayn grumbles, burying his face in a pillow and trying to ignore the tears prickling at his eyes because it fucking  _hurts_ , dammit, and no matter how much Tylenol he swallows it never ceases and he's never experienced pain this bad for such an extended period of time and he just wants it to stop.

"Want me to make dinner now?" Liam suggests, propping himself up on his elbows, hair falling into his eyes and the sight makes Zayn bite back a grin, shaking his head to the best of his ability without further upsetting his pounding head. 

"In a little bit," he says, knocking Liam's elbows out from underneath him so Liam falls back onto the bed with a quiet  _oof_. "Just stay here a while."

 _A while_  turns out to be something like half an hour in which Zayn drifts in and out of consciousness while Liam cuddles him from behind. Then, without warning he's saying, "Gonna make dinner now, boo," and before Zayn can protest he's gone and Zayn is cold and alone.

The pain in his head is still very much present, but has let up a bit, so naturally he gets up very, very slowly and follows Liam downstairs to the kitchen where he's rattling around in the cupboard, looking for something. His face lights up adorably when he finds the gleaming silver spot he's apparently been looking for, setting it in the stove and fiddling with the knobs before becoming aware of Zayn' presence.

"You should rest," he says simply, and it should sound demanding but this is Liam and it ends up sounding more like a suggestion. Zayn shakes his head — oops, too fast, wincing as a fresh bolt of pain strikes his skull and he stumbles forward into Liam's embrace.

"Wanna stay with you and pick up on your magnificent culinary skills," he mumbles into Liam's shirt, lower lip jutting out in a pout and he knows Liam can't say no to that.

He's right. Liam grins, always so fond, reaching to absently swipe a few stray strands of hair from his face. "Okay. Right now this culinary master needs to take a wee, so." He gives Zayn a terribly goofy, endearing look before trotting off awkwardly down the hall, and Zayn can't help the giggle that escapes his lips because he  _loves_  Liam, can't imagine ever loving anyone half as much as he loves Liam.

Feeling cheeky, he peers into the pot on the stove and, finding it empty, leans against the counter, striking a ridiculous pose and waiting for Liam to return.

 

 

It's footsteps coming down the hall and the giddy, nervous feeling he gets around Liam even after all this time and he's expecting Liam to chuckle something like  _You're ridiculous_  and maybe fuck him against the wall if he's lucky, which he almost always is.

Except not this time, because Liam's eyes are warm and friendly but upon further inspection go wide with what Zayn identifies as panic; later, he realizes maybe it was fear.

" _Zayn!_ " And just like that Liam is across the room, yanking him away from the stove and shoving his left hand under the tap, and,  _oh_. The skin of his palm is puckered and colored an angry pink. That's usually a thing somebody would notice, Zayn notes mentally, pursing his lips with his brow furrowing in confusion. Even now, it should hurt, but it doesn't. Not really. A little bit, but the pain is so distant it's hard to tell if it even belongs to him. 

Liam is quiet as he holds Zayn' hand under the water for what seems like days but is most likely just a few minutes, eyes downcast and this stupid look of concern on his face that kind of makes Zayn want to cry but all he can do it stare at his rapidly reddening hand and wonder why he didn't feel it — surely he should have felt  _something_ , right? It's surprising, because Zayn certainly isn't known for his high pain tolerance and even someone like Liam who could probably be whipped across his bare back and tread on with his tongue between his teeth would surely  _notice_ something like that.

After a few minutes, Liam turns off the tap. "Stay here," he instructs Zayn, voice soft but firm, and the second he leaves the room Zayn has his back pressed against the cabinets, feeling his legs give out as he sinks to the tile, staring in awe at the blistering burn on his hand. This is a dream. It has to be a dream. He doesn't know what's happening and he's not so much afraid as he is completely bewildered. It feels suddenly like he's trying to look at the world through a haze.

Liam returns holding gauze bandages that Zayn didn't even know they had, but with a tiny smirk on his face he realizes Liam must have an entire first aid kit stashed somewhere, just in case. He's painfully gentle, crouching down and wrapping around the burn gently, from Zayn' wrist to his knuckles, secure but not tight enough to irritate the skin there. Once he's done, he cuts off the excess and places it on the counter, eyes still trained on Zayn' face.

"Why did you do that?" he asks simply, voice less suspicious and more concerned.

Zayn frowns, blinking at him. "Do what?"

"You burned yourself, love." 

"Oh," Zayn laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood because Liam thinks he did it on _purpose_. "No, I just...didn't notice."

Liam cocks his head a little, clearly confused. "What do you mean you didn't notice?"

Zayn doesn't know how to explain, because the more he thinks about it the crazier it sounds. "I didn't notice. I didn't  _feel_ it. I didn't even realize it was happening until you pulled me away." He chews his lip, and as he watches Liam's face darken, he almost wishes he  _had_  done it on purpose. 

 

 

Liam drags him kicking and screaming to the hospital after that. Not just the regular, ho-hum doctor's office, but the goddamned  _ER_  and Zayn has never been more embarrassed, because he's just tired and under the weather and Liam is making a big fuss out nothing and oh,  _god,_  he hates needles and hospitals and doctors, hates people touching him and pressing cold metal to his skin and making him breathe in out in out so consciously, and by the time it's his turn to be checked he's nearly in tears.

The nurse takes his blood pressure and heart rate and temperature and she doesn't  _look_  worried, not in the slightest, which only further confirms for Zayn what he already knows; he's fine, just ill. 

It's all fine and dandy, as Zayn explains with crossed arms the headaches and the vomiting and the doctor (who identified himself as  _Dr. Ben Allen_ but Zayn doesn't care because all doctors are the same) nods, posture loose and open as he jots down notes on a clipboard. He seems about ready to prescribe Zayn some painkillers and a few days of bed rest and lots of fluids when Liam interrupts, rather rudely if Zayn has a say. 

"The burn," Liam says simply, eyes dark and he's not looking at Zayn but at the floor, playing absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers. "You forgot about the burn."

Zayn shoots him a glare, suddenly all too aware of the gauze wrapped around his hand and he fights the urge to hide it behind his back.

The doctor raises his eyebrows at Zayn. "What burn?"

Zayn holds out his wrapped hand miserably, wrist limp and he fucking hates Liam, he really does. He just wants to go home and this is undoubtedly going to keep them here at least another twenty minutes. "Burned my hand on the stove. No big deal."

Liam's head snaps up. "But you didn't  _feel_ it. That's a big deal. Isn't it?" He turns towards the doctor, eyes wide and pleading and Zayn feels guilty for ever being angry at somebody so lovely and concerned for his well-being, huffing out a sigh. 

The doctor looks confused, so Zayn quickly jumps in to explain before Liam can. "I was leaning against the stove and I guess it was burning my hand and I didn't notice until Liam said something and I saw it. Like, it didn't hurt," he explains, feeling his gut sink because there's  _something_ wrong with him, because who the hell doesn't feel something like that? 

No. He's tired. Just tired and overworked and in need of a really long rest.

The doctor nods, eyes looking a little clouded over, like he's deep in thought. "I'm going to have a nurse come in and go through a few quick neurological tests with you. Nothing fancy, just the stuff you used to do in the nurse's office in secondary school." His smile is warm, comforting, and Zayn nods, sighing. He's so  _tired_ , and it's late and he just wants to cuddle up with Liam under the covers and maybe watch late-night cartoons until he falls asleep.

 So the nurse comes in and the doctor was right, it  _is_ exactly what they used to do in secondary school every year or so. She's friendly and chipper, like she's had too much caffeine (she must have to, with a job like this, Zayn thinks bitterly). He has to do stupid things like follow her finger with his eyes and walk across the room, heel-to-toe in a straight line and he feels so stupid and childish with Liam sitting in a chair in the corner, watching him. 

 Finally, the nurse thanks him and pats him gingerly on the back and then she's gone and  _finally_ Dr. Allen comes back, just as Zayn is sure he's going to pass out on the linoleum. 

Dr. Allen is still smiling, but this time it's small and tight and Zayn feels a rush of panic before forcing himself to think rationally. The doctor is probably tired, too. That's why. Nothing's wrong. He's okay. He gets to go home now and tomorrow he'll wake up, warm in Liam's arms and have Liam make him pancakes, maybe, if his stomach will let him.

It's quiet for almost a full minute, the only sound coming from the soft, constant  _tick tick tick_  of the clock mounted on the wall by the door.

"I'd like to run a few tests," he says finally. "Just standard procedure. An MRI and a CT scan, most likely. They won't take long, I assure you, and then you can be on your way."

"Fine. Just wanna get it over with," Zayn snaps. He's pouting now, truly a petulant child with eyes glistening with tears because he's so damn  _tired_.

Dr. Allen looks a little taken aback by Zayn' sharp response, but nods. "Alright, then. Let's get on with it."

 

 "The results of the tests will take a couple of days at most," Dr. Allen says when they're all  _finally_  done, and Zayn is truly half asleep. "We'll let you know."

Zayn is too sleepy to say anything, so Liam steps in for him, shaking his hand firmly. "Thank you, Doctor." 

Tired as he is, Zayn doesn't miss the way Liam's eyes flicker towards him, the darkest he's ever seen them and burning wild with fear.

They never actually use the word  _cancer._ Or maybe they do, but that isn't until they've already used the word  _glioblastoma, grade four_ which is somehow a thousand times worse as they stare blankly at the light box on the wall, displaying Zayn' MRI results and he's certainly no expert but the white mass invading his frontal lobe isn't  _supposed_ to be there and his entire body is shaking, mind racing because it all makes sense.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Zayn doesn't even have time to react before Liam is blurting out a shaky, "So what are the options?" His hand tightens instinctively around Zayn'. 

Not many, it turns out, because Zayn has cancer and it's of the incurable, brain-eating variety and fuck, when did it get so cold in here? He can't stop shaking and the whole world is spinning. Dr. Allen is still talking, tight, grim smile on his face and Zayn wants to punch it off because he's using words like  _bad, but not hopeless_  except it is hopeless because, well. He can have them poke around in his head and feed him drugs through plastic tubing but the gist of this entire conversation is that he's going to  _die_. 

"They were supposed to be just headaches," he whimpers helplessly, wanting to disappear when Liam lets out this little choking sob next to him, hand curling around Zayn' arm and tugging him close but Zayn tugs back. He doesn't want anyone to touch him. His skin itches, like he needs to shed it all and start anew. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear into the very core of the earth, to become part of the soil and rock and grass, to exist everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

Instead, he stands up slowly and says, very quietly, "I think I need to puke," before walking out of the room and stumbling down the clean white hospital hallway to the bathrooms, locking himself in a stall and clutching the porcelain basin with shaking hands. He doesn't puke, though - just sits there, body heaving but never quite enough to get him to empty the contents of his stomach and  _god_ , he wishes he could because dread is coiling in his stomach like rope and he presses his forehead to the toilet seat. 

It's gross, but he doesn't care. It feels suddenly like all the life has drained out of him and he sits there, limp and emotionless for a long, long time until Liam is pounding on the door, begging him to let him in. His voice is loud and broken and Zayn can tell he's been crying. It feels like the entire world is falling away around him and when he finally opens the door, shaking like a leaf, he collapses into Liam's arms.

"'S gonna be okay," Liam whispers into his temple, smearing tears into his hair. Zayn isn't convinced, but he follows Liam back to Dr. Allen's office anyway because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

Once they're settled back in the uncomfortable plastic chairs and Liam has pulled Zayn' chair so close he's nearly in Liam's lap, the doctor smiles professionally. Zayn wonders how many people he's had to tell they were dying. He's probably had lots of practice, from the look on his face, but the guilty look in his eyes betrays him. Zayn' stomach churns violently.

"So, treatment," Dr. Allen begins again, folding his hands on top of the stack of papers on his desk. "The most common path is surgery; we can get a better look at it and remove a good portion of the tumor that way, though how much we're able to remove is hard to determine at the moment."

Zayn doesn't want to hear it. Liam is listening raptly, though, and Zayn almost expects him to whip out a pen and start taking notes. The thought makes him want to cry. He drifts in and out of the conversation, all too aware of the knobs of his spine pressing against the cold back of the chair and that his left sock has slipped off his heel, leaving his foot cold and uncomfortable. Drifting back to the present, he tries desperately to tune back into what the doctor is saying. "...chemotherapy is always an option," Dr. Allen says, lips pursed, and Zayn' heart is in his throat. "Unfortunately, it has proved in the past to have very little effect on the life expectancy or even the comfort of brain tumor patients." 

There's a low, guttural moan then and it takes Zayn a moment to realize he's the one making it.

"Again, Zayn," Dr. Allen says, and Zayn flinches because up until now he's only been addressed as  _Mr. Malik_. "It's all up to you."

"Can I..." Zayn begins, feeling the ache in his tummy grow and come crawling up his throat, like it's going to pop out and glue his mouth shut before he can finish but he pushes on, desperate to get the words out. "Can I have a few days to think about it?" 

The doctor nods. "Absolutely. However - as is with all forms of brain cancer - time is of the essence." Zayn knows he's seen and heard this a hundred times before.  _How many dead people does this guy know?_ Zayn wonders.  _How many death sentences has he given out?_  

"Do you want to talk about it?" Liam asks on the car ride home, eyes rimmed red, chewing his lip worriedly, and reaches out to rest his hand over Zayn'. Zayn tugs away, almost instinctively, but the look of hurt on Liam's face is enough to make him rethink it.

"Not really," he mumbles, pressing his nose against the glass and slipping his hand back into Liam's. A beat of silence, then, "What about the band?"

"Fuck the band," Liam snaps and Zayn almost laughs at how very unlike himself Liam sounds right now. "Sorry," he adds quickly, eyes apologetic and a little embarrassed. "It's just, you know. You're more important."

"That doesn't even make sense," Zayn snorts, rolling his eyes. " _They're_  not going to like that." He doesn't need to specify who  _they_  are. Liam knows.

Squeezing Zayn' hand, Liam says, "We'll figure it out."

 

 

 Zayn does a lot of research, scrolling through articles on his phone or the computer from the minute he wakes up to early hours of the morning, light from the screen hurting his eyes and certainly doing nothing to help the pain in his head.

Not like anything is really going to help at this point.

And the doctor was right - there's not a lot they can do. There are medications he can take to help with the tumor swelling and they can remove some of the tumor but even if they remove most of it he's still going to die; removing it is only going to buy him an extra year or so, if he's lucky. A year of radiation and chemo and constant hospital visits he doesn't  _want_  it, doesn't want any of this. He wants to see his sisters grow up, wants to buy a house with Liam, wants to be allowed to hold his hand on the street. He wants to go on tour again next year, wants to travel more, he wants so much and there's just no  _time_  for it all, even with treatment. 

The average survival length for glioblasoma patients without treatment is four months. Maybe five. 

It scares Zayn when his weary brain whispers,  _that's more than enough_. 

He's just so tired, is the thing. 

 

 

It's two days, six hours, twenty two minutes and twelve seconds when Zayn makes his decision. 

It hits him right in the chest like a bolt of lightning and he sits bolt upright in bed. Liam wakes up immediately, reaching out for him.

"What's wrong, boo?" he asks, voice hoarse from sleep and cracking with concern. It makes Zayn sad that he knows he's going to have to get used to it.

But looking at Liam's tired eyes, he knows now isn't the best time to tell him. Maybe it'll be better to tell him in the morning, when light is warming his face and his brain isn't so muddled with thoughts and pain -  _so much pain_. So instead he just lays back down, cuddling into Liam's chest and mumbling, "Nothing, love. Just a bad dream is all. Back to sleep now, you."

If Liam notices how badly he's shaking, he doesn't say anything.

"So," he begins quietly, so quietly he's not even sure Liam's heard him, but Liam's head jerks towards him almost immediately. "I, um. I think I decided."

Liam's posture visibly stiffens and he mutes the tv, turning so he can look at Zayn head-on. "Okay," he says, nodding jerkily and, shit, this is going to be harder than he'd hoped. 

And all at once, Zayn can't do it.

He's not used to crying so much but now it feels like there's an endless supply of tears waiting to come raining down his cheeks because  _he can't fucking do this_. He doesn't want to die, but he's going to die anyway, and he doesn't want them poking around in his head but if they don't he'll probably die sooner but he doesn't want to live longer if it means he's going to be bedridden for months on end, sleeping his days away and waking up not knowing where he is, but if he tells Liam the truth it's going to kill him, because he knows Liam wants him to try. Liam wants to exhaust every single possibility, and if he had it his way he'd let them poke around in Zayn' brain and pump him full of poison if it meant keeping him alive, and Zayn knows he means well, but. Liam's not the one with the cancer.

"Hey, hey, c'mon now," Liam soothes, rubbing circles on Zayn' back with his hand. 

"Liam," he gasps, peeking out through his eyelashes that are heavy and dripping with tears, "Liam, I don't want them poking around in my head."

"Zaynie," Liam murmurs sympathetically, fingers carding through his hair, clutching at him like he's scared Zayn is just going to fade away. "Baby, I know you're scared b-"

"No, Liam," he cries, clutching Liam's shoulders and pushing himself up so he can look Liam in the eyes. "No."

Liam is shaking, eyes glassy as he looks at Zayn helplessly. "What do mean, Zaynie?"

"I mean I don't want them poking around in my head, or feeding me drugs through a tube or any of it, I don't because it's going to get bad no matter what Liam, and I'm not sure I want to be around when that happens." Zayn exhales shakily.

"Zaynie," Liam whispers, blinking in disbelief. "Are you...do you  _want_  to die?"

Zayn shakes his head quickly. "Of course I don't, but I'm going to anyway, Liam, don't you understand? And I'm so scared but I don't want to like...I don't want to  _suffer_...more than I have to. Fuck. I don't know if that makes sense but I just. I don't know, Liam, I don't and I'm  _sorry_." His words are only little gasps at this point before Liam grabs his chin and kisses him, hard, like they're running out of time. And, well. They are.

"I'm sorry," Zayn whimpers when Liam pulls away, cheeks flushed prettily. "I love you so much, and I'm sorry, and I understand if you don't want to stay."

Liam's brow furrows in confusion. "What do you mean, if I don't want to stay?" His face crumbles as the realization dawns on him. "Oh, baby," he sighs, gathering Zayn up in his arms. "You know I'd never leave. Would never fucking leave you, not ever."

Zayn is on the brink of a panic attack, desperately trying to convey his point to Liam. "You do realize it's going to get bad, right? It's going to get bad, Li. I'm going to get really, really bad and you're gonna have to...like,  _care_  for me and it's going to be _horrible_." His voice is barely a whisper.

"Do you really think I would leave  _now_ , of all times?" Liam looks wounded. "Don't care, Zaynie. Gonna take care with you. Gonna stay with you. Forever, okay? I promised you forever and I meant it."

"You mean that now, but you're going to regret it," Zayn protests shakily.

Liam just pulls Zayn close, kissing his hair. "You're so brave, baby. I love you so much. You're so  _brave_ , Zaynie."

Zayn blinks, confused. "You're not mad?"

Liam shakes his head, taking both Zayn' wrists in one hand and holding them down. "'M not mad. Scared, yeah. Not mad, though." He closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. He's still shaking a little. "Really scared."

"Me, too," Zayn says in a tiny voice, eyelashes fluttering against Liam's cheek. 

They stay like that for a while, foreheads pressed together in the silence, breathing each other's air.

 

 

It's a Tuesday when the other boys find out.

"Do you want to tell them?" Liam asks softly, knocking their knees together and Zayn bites his lip, thinking. He doesn't think he can.

Finally, Zayn shakes his head because he doesn't trust his voice. Harry, Niall, and Louis stare at him worriedly from the couch. The couch is more of a love seat and is really too small for all three of them to be sitting on it, but they don't mind. He knows they'd make him and Liam come sit as well if he hadn't insisted sitting with Liam instead. He thinks if he gets any closer to them he'll break. 

"Okay. So me?" Liam clarifies, tilting Zayn' chin up so he can look him in the eyes. Zayn merely nods, almost positive he's about to be sick again and pressing his face into Liam's shoulder. 

Liam takes a long, deep breath, taking Zayn' hand in his before saying simply, "Zayn is sick."

And then they're all talking at once.  _What kind of sick? Is he going to be okay? Has he seen a doctor yet? Does he need to go to the hospital? Is he not going to be able to come to America for promo? Is it serious?_ Zayn almost rolls his eyes, wants to say  _Of course it's serious, you idiots._  He doesn't, though, because they don't need that right now.

"'M  _dying_ ," he squeaks out pathetically, immediately reaching for Liam and putting his face in his lap, thinking that if he just stays here until they leave he can avoid the worst of it - their ugly, horrified expressions, the pity in their eyes. He doesn't want pity. It's embarrassing. 

And he can hear everyone talking at once but his brain refuses to turn their words into anything but rambling, and all at once their hands are on him, stroking his face and running through his hair and tugging him up to look at them and Harry is first, wrapping Zayn tight in his arms and Zayn is reaching around to hug him back, feeling safe and very, very sad suddenly as Niall reaches under Harry's arms to pull Zayn close and Louis waits patiently behind them, not wanting to overwhelm him and fuck, Zayn loves them. 

He feels warm and happy and  _loved_ , so, so loved as Louis pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back and whispering nonsense into his ear and he's pretty sure Niall is holding his hand. Fuck, he's not ready to leave his boys.

 Not now, not  _ever_. 

 

 

One Direction goes on a hiatus after the release of their new album. It's a video, only about a minute long, and they're all smiling to the point where it's painful, giving thumbs up and promising  _We'll be back soon_. The status of next year's tour is still unknown.

"You should go, you know," Zayn tells them quietly, head resting in Liam's lap. They're all sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of Zayn and Liam. "Do the tour. And music. More music."

They all come to the unanimous decision that no, they won't be doing any of that. 

"Not without you," Liam says roughly, voice deathly low. "Never without you."

Zayn feels like crying, because they can't just  _end_ One Direction just like that because of him. They're supposed to go out with a bang, not a whimper. They can't just cancel the tour, because so many people are looking forward to it and  _they're_  all looking forward to it and oh god, people are going to be so angry and he can't stand the thought of letting so many people down.

"The band doesn't have to die when I do," Zayn whispers, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve, and just like that Niall is jumping up to wrap his arms around him, pressing his face into Zayn' back.

"You  _are_  the band," Niall insists, smiling a little. "We're brothers. A  _team_ , and we're not playing without you."

 

 

The headaches are getting worse. 

Zayn smiles through it, pretends not to notice. After their interview with Ellen, he collapses into Liam's arms backstage, pain practically immobilizing him. He falls asleep in Liam's lap on the way back to the hotel.

He cries that night when his hands are shaking so badly he can't even press the damn elevator button. He's so used to being able to fix things, patch them up and make them good as new and fuck, he can't fix this.

Zayn spends all of his time in America gazing at the landscapes of everywhere he goes, memorizing faces and places because he knows he's probably never going to get to come back.

Despite everything, he's going to miss it. 

 

 

It's a Sunday afternoon, sleet is falling steadily just outside the windows, and they're still in bed. Zayn sits cross-legged on the mattress, running his fingers through Liam's hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands. Loki is curled up at his side, tail thumping against his leg. Liam's playing an album by one of his terrible indie bands over the speaker on the dresser. It's kind of nice. 

Letting go of Liam's hair for a moment, Zayn presses his face into the back of Liam's neck, flushed with heat even in this chilly November weather. 

"What about kids?" he asks after a long time. Liam's posture straightens a little, and Zayn smiles grimly. It's not like he expected any less. 

"Zaynie," he croaks, turning halfway and Zayn can already see that his eyes are glassy. "Don't."

And normally Zayn would just drop the conversation there, whispering  _I'm sorry_  over and over again into Liam's skin and sucking an apology bruise onto the side of his neck before going back to playing with his hair, but instead he just sits on his shaking hands, bites his lip and tries again. "But, like...you know, if we were. To have kids, I mean. Names. I know we've discussed them, but I need to  _know_. And, like, which one would be head over heels for you and which one I'd corrupt and take out for ice cream after tea. Please, Liam. I just. It's stupid, but," Zayn pauses, fiddling with the sleeves of his -  _Liam's_  - jumper and attempting to gauge Liam's expression. "I just feel like it's something I want to know, before. You know." His voice isn't any higher than a whisper by the last word, but he's still proud.

Liam sits quietly for a long time, almost eerily still as he gazes out the window at the storm beyond, storm clouds grey and kraken-cruel. Finally, so quietly Zayn' sleepy brain almost doesn't pick it up, he says, "You  _would_ manage to corrupt them, wouldn't you?" The corners of his lips quirk up slightly.

Zayn nods, almost too enthusiastic. "Of course I would. And you'd be the parent who fucking blends up spinach and puts it in brownies, and we'd all compliment you on how good they are because we love you too much to crush your dreams like that." This earns a small chuckle from Liam, much to Zayn' delight. "But then afterwards I'd take them out for sundaes with extra whipped cream and fudge and they'd come home with ice cream all over their faces but they'd never tell you the truth, because I'm the cool parent." He grins devilishly, wrapping his arms around Liam and tugging him back, back, back until they're lying side by side, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip.

"We'd get another dog, maybe. Or a cat. Name it Felix," Liam says, closing his eyes and smiling fondly. "God, the kids would  _love_ you. I mean, they'd love me too, but they'd fucking  _adore_ you, Zaynie."

Zayn can't contain his grin, tucking his face into Liam's shoulder. It takes him a little while to calm down the giddiness he's got growing in his belly, heart fluttering. "They'd love you, though," he says finally. "Whenever they were sad or scared they'd go to you first. You'd be the one up the second they would start crying in the middle of the night, all ready to rock them and sing them back to sleep with your terrible indie music." The words don't come out like he'd intended them to - it's getting harder to find the words he's looking for, but he can't let Liam know that.

Liam moves so he's lying on his side, leaning on his elbow and facing Zayn, grinning like mad. "I guess I would. God," he laughs, tipping his face towards the ceiling fan. "It would be chaos. All the time. We'd need a bigger house. Like...way bigger."

"Of course," Zayn agrees. "How else would we be able to fit in all that chaos?" He purses his lips, thinking. "And the holidays. The holidays would be the best. The whole house would be covered in tinsel and lights and the kids would make those tacky reindeer with googly eyes and paper clips and we'd buy Santa hats for all the animals in the house."

"And we'd have a tree, a big one. Even bigger than the one we have now," Liam says, eyes a little glazed like he's somewhere else. "And even then it'd be a struggle to fit everyone around it."

Zayn nods happily. " Yeah, of course. And of course we'd have to invite the boys. And your mum and dad and all of my family, too. All the girls." He smiles but feels tears prickling at his eyes when he pictures all his sisters crowded around a tree, Liam's arm around him, giggling children practically hanging off of them with the boys looking on fondly.

Liam notices immediately, and tries to steer the conversation away from that particular topic. "And on Halloween you'd be the one to go all out. All those bloody expensive animatronics to scare the shit out of all the trick or treaters." 

Zayn feels like his heart is going to burst, and he also feels really tired all of a sudden, eyelids heavy and he struggles to keep them open. "Mhm," he hums, feeling sleepy and happy as he snuggles deeper under the down comforters, shuffling to get closer to Liam until their chests are pressed flush together. Liam runs a hand through Zayn' hair affectionately and Zayn sighs happily, letting his eyes fall all the way shut, mumbling, "Keep talking."

Liam shifts so he can tuck Zayn' head under his chin, hands wrapped protectively around his waist, and keep talking he does. "And of course you'd be raising them, too, so they wouldn't turn out to be ridiculous klutzes like me. You'd probably teach them all to skateboard with Louis, wouldn't you, boo?" Zayn merely makes a tiny noise of agreement, face buried in Liam's chest. 

"You'd be such a good dad.  _Fuck_ , Zaynie. So fucking good." Liam sniffles a little before continuing, voice coming out raw and it makes Zayn want to cry, too.

Liam is still talking but Zayn is already drifting off, visions of curly-haired, brown-eyed little children lingering in his mind and if Liam's ramblings get cut off with a soft, sudden choking sob, Zayn just squeezes his eyes shut tighter and pretends not to notice.

Zayn is used to telling Liam everything, pressing the words into Liam's jaw or whimpering them into his mouth or crying them into his shoulder when he's embarrassed or sad or scared. There are, of course, some things Liam doesn't know, like that on that rare occasions he's awake before Liam he likes to stare at Liam's face, eyes closed and lips parted and sometimes he cries, too, because Liam is so wonderful and Zayn doesn't know what force on earth decided he ever deserved someone so lovely and understanding and patient.

There are more, a few, but they're relatively unimportant things except now he's got a big secret hovering right over his heart like a butterfly, wings fluttering angrily and it's that he's starting to lose his words. 

He can't... he can't explain it, because it doesn't make sense but sometimes, he'll be in the middle of a story and somehow he'll just  _forget_  as in he cannot physically nor mentally get his tongue to wrap itself around the next word and it's fucking scary. Like, he'll be telling a story about his sisters or something he watched while Liam was away or a stupid joke Niall told him when he'll forget the word  _play_ or  _watch_ or even  _funny_ and he'll cut himself short, ducking his head as panic creeps up his spine and then Liam will say something that jogs his memory and he'll be able to finish his story in one piece. 

It's okay. Like the doctors said - bad, but not hopeless. He repeats the words to himself over and over in his head every night until they blur together and he nearly forgets them altogether.

Staring at Liam's sleeping face, all he can think is  _please don't let me forget you, too._

 

 

Eventually, Liam notices. Liam notices everything. 

"Liam," Zayn says sharply, voice slightly panicked in a way it usually isn't. "Can't find the...the...for the car."

Liam's brow furrows as he turns to look at him, lips curving downwards into a confused frown. "Huh, baby?"

Zayn hands shake as he tries to imitate the act of putting keys in the ignition. "Can't find them," he blurts, feeling more embarrassed than anything else. 

"You mean the keys?" Liam asks, voice dripping with concern. 

"Keys," Zayn repeats, relief flooding through him so fast he thinks he might pass out. "Yeah. Keys." The word feels just as familiar as it always has, rolling easily off his tongue and he almost wants to laugh.

Liam doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. 

The look on his face tells Zayn everything he needs to know. 

 

 

Liam makes him a list on his phone, a little list titled  _Words for Zaynie  :),_  all filled with words Zayn has been forgetting most frequently but the list seems to be growing exponentially with every passing day, and it's a little hard to keep up. 

"Did you remember to feed the...the-" Zayn pauses, brow crinkling in concentration as he licks his lips and Liam feels a tidal wave of grief come crashing over him as Zayn stands there, eyes narrowing even further, hands curling into tiny little fists as he struggles to find the word he's looking for.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Zayn' shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of his head that he can only hope is comforting, Liam murmurs, "The dog, love?" 

Zayn turns into Liam's embrace and buries his face in Liam's collarbones and Liam feels his heart sink down to his knees when he feels wetness pooling there.

"Hey," he says gently, snaking a hand between Zayn' chest and his and grasping Zayn' chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. Zayn' eyes are glossy and rimmed red and he looks so pathetic and hopeless it's got tears prickling at Liam's own eyes. But he won't cry - not now, because this time Zayn needs him to be the strong one. And he will be. 

"Baby," he murmurs, walking slowly backwards until his back thumps against the wall and tugging Zayn with him, sinking down to the floor so Zayn can rest in the space between his legs. It's only a minute or two until Zayn' sniffles stop completely, but the sensation of helplessness remains. "S'okay," he says, grabbing one of Zayn' hands - so teeny tiny, he's always been; it's one of Liam's favorite things - and traces the lines of his palm until Zayn has fully calmed down and is sitting upright, picking at the carpet with his free hand.

"Feel so stupid," Zayn mutters, cheeks flushing as he ducks his head, almost shamefully. "All the time."

" _No_." Liam nearly growls it, voice going harsh in a way it normally doesn't with Zayn. Zayn' head snaps up at the tone in his voice, looking more than a little startled but Liam just doesn't  _care_ , because he doesn't know what to do and he fucking hates feeling helpless like this. He wants to press Zayn into their mattress and whisper into his skin all the words that are running through his mind but they've got places to go and there's just no time. There never is, and his stomach lurches because they're running out of fucking time and he has so much he needs to  _say_.

Instead, he just pulls Zayn close so their faces are level, noses brushing. Their breathing is almost humorously noisy in the still, quiet of the flat. "You're  _not_  stupid," Liam insists firmly, hands holding Zayn' face in place so he can't squirm away. "Never stupid, baby. Don't like hearing you say things like that." Zayn' gaze lowers and Liam knows he's going to start crying again, so he kisses him before he can.

It's only a chaste brush of lips, but it's enough. 

"You don't  _get_  it," Zayn snaps, whirling on him one night when Liam is trying to cuddle him out of feeling sad for forgetting the word  _plant_.  _Plant_ , for Christ's sake. "You don't know what it's like to wake up and forget the stupidest damn things, like where your toothbrush is or which door it is to our room."

His lower lip trembles and he bites down on it, hard. He isn't sad, he is  _angry_ and he wants Liam so badly to understand but he can't fucking make him understand and it's not fair to try but it feels like he's stumbling through an endless expanse of moonless night alone and if that isn't the most goddamned terrifying thing, he's not sure what is.

"Babe," Liam says gently, eyes glittering and Zayn knows he's going to cry. "I know. I'm sorry. I just,  _fuck._  Wish there was something I could do. I don't know what to do or how to help and I feel fucking helpless and I hate it, Zay-"

"I don't  _want_ this," Zayn cries suddenly, cutting Liam off and he feels like he's going to collapse, he's shaking so bad. "Gonna...forget... _everything_. You know that, right? That this is minor compared to how bad it's gonna get? Not gonna be able to sing or even fucking  _talk_ , Liam," he whimpers. "I don't want to forget  _you._ "

He barely has time to process his own sobs before Liam is engulfing him, arms wrapping tight tight tight around him, fingers digging into his back. Zayn has quiet sobs wracking his body and from the way he's shaking he know Liam's started to cry, too. 

"I'm sorry," Zayn whispers, wiping his eyes on Liam's shirt. "I know you're trying. You're perfect. I'm sorry I said anything."

He never brings it up again.

 

 

Liam walks in on Zayn snuggled under the covers with his knees to his chest, frantically scribbling onto a piece of notebook paper before pausing, tapping his chin with the pen, and going back to writing.

"What're you doing?" Liam asks, nudging teasingly at Zayn' legs. Zayn just narrows his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him, eyes still trained on the paper in front of him.

"Tell me," Liam whines, slithering coyly up next to Zayn and nudging at his hip with his nose.

Zayn sighs, capping his pen and folding up the paper into a tiny square, holding it firmly in his hand. "A letter," he says simply.

Liam waggles his eyebrows playfully. "To who? Your one true love? Are you cheatin' on me, boo?" He reaches out to tickle Zayn' sides and his heart soars when Zayn gives in and squeals, curling in on himself.

"Liam, _stop_ ," he pleads through his laughter, trying in vain to swat Liam's hands away. Liam doesn't stop though, because Zayn' laugh is music to his ears and he wants to listen to it all night long. His hands still, though, when they graze over Zayn' ribs, the shocking jut of his hipbone. He knows why - Zayn' appetite has been nonexistent lately but it's still terrifying, realizing just how tiny he is. 

"So tiny," he murmurs sadly, fingers curling around Zayn' bicep and even he's surprised when he can fit his entire arm in the loop between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Always been tiny," Zayn retaliates, pulling the covers higher over himself like he's trying to hide. 

"Not like this," Liam whispers, turning his sad eyes to meet Zayn' gaze. Zayn' cheeks are flushed, like he's almost embarrassed.

"It's a letter for you," he says softly, nose crinkling the way it does when he thinks something is funny, and Liam stills. "The paper."

"For me?"

Zayn nods, rolling onto his tummy. "For you."

"Do I get to read it?"

"Mmm," Zayn hums, eyes fluttering shut and he peeks out at Liam playfully, grinning. "Not yet. S'not done yet."

"Soon?"

"Yeah," Zayn says, face almost unreadable. "Maybe."

 

 

Zayn finishes his letter to Liam the next morning while Liam is making him eggs, even though his stomach is in knots and he doubts he'll be able to eat much. He finishes off the letter with a flourish before capping his pen. There's an air of finality to it as he neatly folds the letter and sticks it into the empty envelope he's got sitting in front of him, the one he made Liam scour the entire flat for. 

He makes sure to make devious eye contact with Liam the entire time he's licking the envelope — he knows he's over-licked it when it won't even seal properly, so he makes Liam find him another, which he seals with not nearly as much tongue swiping. He scribbles something quickly on the front of it, too quick for Liam to get a chance to look, and shoves it deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Do I get to read it now?" Liam asks from where he's standing by the stove, bare-chested with his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips as he concentrates on frying the sizzling bacon in the pan in front of him.

"No," Zayn says simply, suddenly feeling very tired, mostly because of the cancer and all, but also because he doesn't want to have this conversation.

Liam frowns, turning to narrow his eyes at him, one hand still holding the spatula. "You said it was for me."

"It is for you. But you don't get to read it  _now_."

"When do I get to read it, then?" 

"Like, um. After," Zayn mumbles, fidgeting in his chair as he feels Liam's gaze on him harden. He hears the sound of the burner being turned off, spatula being put back on the counter, Liam's footsteps approaching and he squeezes his eyes shut tight because he really, really doesn't want to have this conversation right now, or maybe ever. 

"After what, Zaynie?" Liam asks, voice dangerously low.

"You know what." It comes out harsher than he intended. He can't help it. His head is starting to throb and he fights the urge to close his eyes again. 

"Zaynie." Liam's voice is gentle now, watery, like he's going to cry. Or maybe he's already crying; Zayn can't bring himself to look at his face. They've both been doing a lot of crying lately. Zayn doesn't like it.

"I, just," Zayn sputters, wracking his brain for the words he's looking for. "Wanted to, like, give you something. Of me. That's... _me_ , in a way, if that makes sense. So you can have it...when I'm, um. When I'm not me anymore, I guess." He brings a hand up to rub at his eye and it comes away wet. He doesn't know when he started crying but all he knows now is that he  _is_ crying and he's pretty sure Liam is, too, and he can't stop.  

"Oh, Zaynie," he whispers, and he's aiming for his mouth but ends up kissing his cheekbone instead. Close enough. "Okay," he says finally, looking resigned. "I'll wait to read it, then. Until...after." The look on his face makes Zayn' heart ache. The look of understand and resignation and  _sadness_ because he understands now and that's all Zayn has ever wanted from him but seeing it now just makes him want to disappear.

Soon, he thinks.  _Soon._  

 

 

Turns out that his  _soon_  is coming sooner than expected when he's in the shower one morning, washing his hair with Liam's apple-scented shampoo and the world in front of him blurs, a jolt of pain hitting him so badly he doubles over, clutching at his stomach and he barely has time to yell for Liam before his entire lower half goes numb and the world in front of him spins into blackness.

Liam finds him on his side in the shower in a pool of blood from the gash on his head, eyes slightly open, skin flushed and he's shaking violently, lips parted like he's going to say something but he's not, just releasing this little breathy gasps and Liam is at his side at once, begging, "Zaynie, Zaynie, c'mon, stay with me. Come back to me, sweetheart." He continues chanting even as he's frantically trying to explain to the 911 operator what's happened.

"My boyfriend passed out in the shower and he's bleeding and shaking and fuck, there's blood  _everywhere_ , please send somebody  _now_!" He runs his shaking fingers through Zayn' damp hair. When he pulls his hand away it's covered in Zayn' blood and he nearly loses it right there but he  _can't_ , not now. Not yet.

"Zayn," he repeats desperately, pressing his fingers to Zayn' pulse point on his neck and his mouth to Zayn', breathing, trying to give him air, trying to help him  _breathe,_ for Christ's sake.

By the time the paramedics show up, though, Zayn' shaking has ceased and he's stopped responding altogether.

Liam has to pull over on his way to the hospital, trailing after he ambulance - he stumbles out onto the damp grass on the side of the road and empties a mouthful of stomach bile onto the soil. 

 

 

 _A seizure_ , the doctors tell him.  _Bad, but common with glioblastoma patients._  Liam wants to be sick again. 

When Zayn wakes up, he is  _screaming_ in pain, clutching at his head with shaking fingers and grabbing the nurse's hand and begging, "Please make it stop, please make it stop, just make it  _stop_."

So they cut into his scalp, taking Zayn' desperate cries as permission. They're able to remove some of the tumor, but not enough. Not nearly enough. It's bad, they say, shaking their heads and gazing sadly at Liam when he breaks down in the waiting room, head in his hands. Really fucking bad.

He only cries harder when he gets to see Zayn, looking so small and tired in his hospital bed, patch of hair missing and angry stitches where they sliced into his head, poked around in his brain. He has to be escorted out until he can compose himself. When he finally does, Zayn won't talk, but Liam doesn't need him to. He just sits in the chair by his bed, matching his fingers into the shapes of Zayn' tattoos.

Trish and the whole crew are there by the next morning, crowding around Zayn and his sisters are crying, crying, crying and when his little sister crawls onto the bed next to them Zayn just quietly strokes her hair, murmuring, "It's okay. I'm okay. Don't worry about me. I'm okay." Trish has to leave the room and Liam follows her, enveloping her in a tight hug because he gets it.

"I know," he whispers, Trish's face pressed into his shoulder, staining his coat with mascara tears, "I'm scared, too."

The boys come visit, too, piling into a couple of chairs near Zayn' bed and talking to him excitedly, quickly, and it breaks Liam's heart when Zayn merely looks up at them, blinking and lost and so, so confused. Liam tries to repeat what the doctors told him to them, that they need to slow it down, that Zayn' brain isn't working at fully capacity right now and it's going to start taking him a little while to understand people so they need to just  _slow it down_  so as to not overwhelm him.

They nod grimly, and the way they talk to him after that is so heartbreakingly gentle that Liam has to leave the room.

Zayn gets to come home five days later. A few pictures of him leaving the hospital, Liam's beanie on his head covering the worst of his scars, make it into the tabloids, but it's passed off as a minor incident, a stomach bug. It's clear from the glazed look in Zayn' eyes and his hollowed cheeks that this isn't the case, but most people don't question it. An influx of  _Get well soon! :)_ tweets are posted, all tagging @zaynmalik, and it makes Liam's skin crawl.

Somehow, when Zayn walks through the door, guided by Liam's warm hand on the small of his back, and whimpers  _Just wanna go back to bed, Li_ , Liam knows things will never be quite the same again. 

The clock ticks on the wall. He shivers.

 

 

Liam spends a lot of time doing research, and each search turns up more horrors about Zayn' worsening condition - more seizures, sleeping 18 hours a day, hallucinating, unable to eat or drink or even swallow, forgetting things that happened just hours ago. He can't believe this is happening, and it's happening to  _Zayn_ , of all people - the sun of his existence, light of his life, the  _love_ of his life, his favorite boy in the world.

When one night Zayn can't stop throwing up and he's shaking so bad Liam worries he's going to have another seizure, Zayn buries his tear-stained face in Liam's chest and cries, "Just want it to stop, just want it to be over now."

"I know, boo, I know you do, I'm sorry," Liam babbles, hands stroking Zayn' hair as he mentally prepares for the next vomiting episode. 

It only occurs to Liam later, after he's cleaned and sanitized the entire bathroom, when they're curled up in bed as the sun begins to rise, turning the whole world purple, that maybe Zayn'  _just want it to be over now_  means something different than what he'd originally interpreted it as, and he clutches the smaller boy closer.

He won't let him go. Not without a fight.

 

 

"Stay," Liam whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Zayn' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Zayn stay.

"Wish I could," Zayn whispers back, pressing himself closer to Liam, leaning into his touch. 

Liam wonders if he holds Zayn close enough, he can keep him forever. He promised Zayn a long time ago that he'd always protect him. Always, except he always thought that would be protection from something physically, tangible, except now this thing killing Zayn is a part of him and all Liam can fucking do is sit back and  _watch_  as his boy gets worse and worse.

He's so  _scared_ , because it's the first time he's made a promise to Zayn that he's realized he can't keep. 

 

 

Zayn' quiet lately. Not because he's shy or anything — it just takes him a little longer to process words and it's even more draining for him to speak in complete sentences all the time. He still  _talks_ , sure, but a majority of his communication most days is via smiles and nods and head shakes. He's been using their thumbs-up signal recently, too.

Liam doesn't mind. Sure, it's weird not having Zayn' sweet little voice filling up the halls, always an uncontrollable ball of energy, but. He's still soft and cuddly and cheeky and  _here_ , and that's all that matters. 

He starts off every morning by asking Zayn, "What color are you today, boo?" 

It's a system they've come up with, like traffic lights, because three colors are easier for Zayn to keep track of than individual emotions. 

Green is a good day, when Zayn is alert and in the mood for company and cartoons and maybe even pancakes. Yellow means  _okay._ Yellow means, "I'm okay, but I might not be later," or vice versa. On yellow days, Zayn is a little slower; it takes him a little longer to speak, a little longer to process Liam's words. Yellow means no company and quiet music and cuddles and lots of tea. Sometimes, on yellow days, Liam reads to him, keeping his voice low and even, fingers tangled with Zayn'.

Red is a bad day — red is when the pain in Zayn' head is almost unbearable, it's radio silence and Zayn taking as long as ten minutes to answer a single question, or sometimes not at all. Red is Liam spooning ice chips into Zayn' mouth because he can't handle anything else. Red is Zayn clutching onto Liam like he's a lifeline, like he's the only thing keeping Zayn here. 

Today is a  _red_  day. Liam can tell right off the bat, because it takes nearly twenty minutes to get Zayn awake and somewhat responsive, and even then his eyes are fluttering like he's physically incapable of keeping them open and it makes Liam's heart aches, how terribly weak he looks.

By early evening, though, after the sky has shifted from blue to pink to purple, Zayn' red has dimmed to yellow. Liam can tell; Zayn is much more alert, he has the energy to walk to the toilet by himself (Liam escorts him anyway, despite Zayn' weak protests that he's  _not a_   _child_ ,  _Liam._ ) He's cuddlier, too, snuggling up closer to Liam when he reaches out to run a hand through Zayn' hair.

Zayn lays on his side, eyes trained on Liam's. Liam gazes back, unflinching — he knows from the look in Zayn' eyes that he's truly here, really looking at Liam. Just observing, like he's trying to remember every detail of Liam's face. Liam doesn't mind, though; after all, he's doing the same.

Feeling a sudden surge of affection, Liam smiles gently, placing a hand on Zayn' forearm to make sure Zayn is present, grounded, and holds out his other hand in a tiny wave, waggling his fingers.  _Hi, I love you._  Warmth spills into his gut when Zayn nods — he saw,  _he's here, he's here with me_ , Liam's relieved mind chants over and over again — and gives Liam a little thumbs up, corners of his mouth quirking up and he doesn't have to speak for Liam to know what it means.

_I know. I love you, too._

 

 

Liam wakes up unreasonably early the next morning, and at first he's completely ready to dive back under the covers and go back to sleep until he realizes  _today is Christmas_ and his heart leaps, only to sink back when his eyes fall on the sleeping boy next to him, looking exhausted even in sleep, purpled half moons under his closed eyes and cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass. 

He runs a hand experimentally down Zayn' warm side, fingers lingering a touch too long on Zayn' ribs, so prominent even through his shirt that Liam has to fight to swallow back his panic. 

" Zaynie," he murmurs, sinking down to be level with Zayn and nosing at his cheek, running gentle hands down Zayn' sides and back. "It's Christmas, baby. C'mon, wake up." 

It takes nearly five minutes and quite a bit of coaxing but Zayn' eyelashes finally flutter as he peeks out at Liam, nose crinkling a little and Liam bites back a grin, reaching out to cup his jaw. "There you are," he practically coos, their noses brushing as Zayn' fluttering lashes slow as he comes to. "There's my boy."

"Christmas," Zayn repeats carefully.

"That's right," Liam says with a nod, stroking Zayn' cheekbone with his fingers. "Merry Christmas, darling." His eyes linger on Zayn' face as it dawns on him that this is going to be Zayn' last Christmas and he can the lump forming in his throat, but that thought makes him sad and he doesn't want to be sad on Zayn' last Christmas, so he pushes the thought away and turns his attention to the sweet little thing in front of him, all curled up in fleece blankets, looking like a sleepy little child, hair sticking out in all directions. "What color are you today?"

Zayn brushes his chapped lips together, contemplating this. "Green," he says finally, but with an upward inflection like he's just looking for whatever is going to make Liam happy.

"Are you sure, babe?" Liam asks, brow furrowing in concern.

"'M sure," Zayn says simply, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes as if to say,  _How dare you doubt me_. 

Liam's mind drifts back to last Christmas, where he'd woken up to a very squirmy and happy Zayn, who had, upon learning Liam was awake, whispered excitedly in his ear, "Guess what today is? Christmas! Guess who said they'd make me chocolate chip pancakes? You did!" and spent a good ten minutes trying to drag a very sleepy Liam out of bed. They'd wound up on the floor, Liam pressing merry Christmas kisses to Zayn' mouth, the column of his throat and his sternum before eating him out in the wintry sunshine pouring in through the window.

Liam knows Zayn is a little too fragile at the moment for that kind of roughhousing, but it doesn't keep him from pressing soft kisses to Zayn' mouth, both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, whispering, "Love you, love you, love you," over and over again.

"Love you, too," Zayn answers, voice bright and clear and, yeah. It's a green day.

 

 

They spend Christmas tangled up on the couch watching Christmas specials, all of Zayn' favorites. Liam bakes gingerbread cookies. Zayn won't eat any, he  _can't,_ but he likes the smell and he likes watching Liam bake, so. 

"Got you a present." Liam tells him later that night, pulling off his shirt and closing his fingers around the object in his hand. 

Zayn' mouth pops open a little, cheeks turning bright red and Liam doubles over with laughter. "Oh, sweetheart," he chuckles, fingers smoothing Zayn' fringe out of the way. "Not like that. Here, look," he explains, turning around and pointing to the inking on the back of his neck.

Zayn frowns, looking confused at the sloping black lines. It's okay, though - Liam expected him to be confused. 

"This," Liam says, clearing his throat and taking Zayn' hand to press it to the tattoo, the one that still stings a little, being so new, "is your heartbeat."

Zayn' frown gradually dissipates and he blinks at Liam, staring for a long time and his eyes are getting really, really glassy and oh, he's going to cry and Liam leans down to peck his lips and nose at his jaw, murmuring, "Baby, don't cry. Don't be sad."

"'M not sad," Zayn says at once, voice sharp. "'M  _happy_." 

And, fuck. Now Liam's crying, too. He can't keep the stupid, happy grin off his face as he holds out the silver chain in the palm of his hand. Zayn peers at it curiously, wiping at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand.

Hanging from the silver chain is a tiny silver paper airplane and, next to that, a circle with another set of curving lines, sloping like mountains. "And this," Liam says, gently slipping the chain over Zayn' head, "is my heartbeat."

"Oh," Zayn says softly, fingers reaching to touch the charms, now lying snugly against his chest. 

"Do you like it?" Liam asks hopefully, and he barely has time to register what's happening before Zayn is launching himself at him, and they're a tangle of limbs and tears and Zayn is crying, "Yes, yes, love it, love you, thank you thank you  _thank you._ "

Liam's heart swells. With Zayn in his arms, he feels like he can do anything.

 

 

They fuck, because Zayn is feeling better than he has in a long time and he's begging for it, grinding down on Liam's crotch and tugging at his shirt, pressing his face into Liam's chest and whimpering desperately. The charms hanging from his neck make a soft jingling sound, like sleigh bells.

So, Liam gives in after making Zayn promise to  _please tell me to stop if you get too tired_.

"So pretty," Liam murmurs, hands running through the hair at the base of Zayn' scalp, soft and thin and he feels like he's going to go insane if he can't touch Zayn one more time. "You're so  _pretty_ , baby. Always so pretty for me. Love you so much."

Liam knows he's saying too much, too fast for Zayn to completely understand, but Zayn doesn't seem to mind. He just arches up into Liam's touch, whimpering, "Yes, yes,  _more._ "

Liam feels an ache deep in his heart, because here, propped up above Zayn who's squirming and writhing beneath him, gasping sharply when Liam bites at his lip and tilting his head back to expose his throat to Liam like he's just begging for mark him up, it feels like everything might be okay. Or, at the very least, he can pretend. 

Zayn' been so  _tired_  lately, but tonight he's got enough to wrap his arms around Liam's neck, holding himself up while Liam thrusts into him a little too roughly, nipping at his ear with his hand on his cock and it's all over so fast Liam wants to cry, collapsing back on the couch with Zayn in his arms, all limp and warm and pliant.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Liam mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion and he's too happy to feel anything else right now. "Love you. Love you so much." Zayn just hums, nuzzling at Liam's chest with his nose and closing his eyes. 

They fall asleep on the couch, basking in the warm glow of Christmas tree lights and the sound of Frank Sinatra singing  _have yourself a merry little Christmas._

 

 

Christmas is a red day. Liam's heart is in his throat the entire fifteen minutes it takes to get Zayn to respond to him, thinking about how he's so used to Zayn crawling all over him and squealing, "It's Christmas, it's Christmas, Liam, come on, get up!"

Zayn is so  _weak_ , is the thing, and Liam wonders if their endeavors the previous night tired him out even more. Probably. His stomach is in knots the entire time, as he makes the Facetime call to Trish and the girls, who unfortunately cannot make it due to the dreadful snow pileup but promise they'll be by to visit before New Year's.  _Please hurry_ , Liam thinks but doesn't say anything. Zayn can barely say anything, either, and his sisters don't understand this which just makes them talk faster, more overexcited and Zayn looks so overwhelmed Liam thinks he might cry.

They spend their Christmas day lying on the couch, watching more Christmas specials. Zayn sleeps through most of them. Liam sings Christmas tunes to him all afternoon, but he knows most of them are lost on Zayn, who drifts in and out of consciousness every half hour or so.

Liam is a little disappointed - well, he's a lot disappointed, actually, but he doesn't want to admit it to himself because frankly, it sounds a bit selfish.

He just wished their last Christmas together would be happier, is all. 

 

 

Last year, they spent New Year's Eve drunk off their asses, hiding in the dark corners, anywhere out of sight to cop a quick feel and when it struck midnight they had crashed their glasses together and Zayn had mumbled, "To another lovely year with my favorite boy."

"The fourth New Year's we've spent together," Liam had laughed, pressing a sloppy, drunk kiss to Zayn' chin. "The fourth of many, many more to come."

This year, they spend it in their flat in almost complete silence. The other boys are here, too, and Sophia, because they can't just  _not_ invite her. For Christ's sake, she's got Harry absolutely whipped. They're all squished together on the couch, Zayn resting across all of their laps and it's nice, having them all here for this. 

They're all touching him in some way - Harry's got his arms crossed over Zayn' ankles, Louis is fiddling with the hem of his sweater and tracing little patterns onto Zayn' hipbone that make the smaller boy giggle and swat his hand away. Niall has one of Zayn' hands in his own, playing with his fingers and periodically making him flip Liam the bird. And Zayn' head is in Liam's lap, with Liam carding his hand gently through his hair, grinning sheepishly whenever Zayn gets tired and presses his face into Liam's stomach.

When the clock strikes midnight they all cheer, Harry pulling Sophia in for a kiss and Niall trying to hug everyone at once. Zayn sits up slowly, blinking at Liam, confused.

"It's New Year's, baby," Liam whispers, grinning and pressing their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Zaynie. I lo-"

But Zayn' lips cut him off, hot and insistent, before he can finish.

 

 

Besides Liam, Louis is Zayn' favorite.

He loves Niall and Harry, he does, but it feels like they're always too wound up, even when they're gentle, and on anything that isn't a Very Good Day it's hard for Zayn to deal with.

Louis, though, he  _loves_ , and he's the only non-family member besides Liam he can see on yellow days (red days are for Liam and Liam only, and sometimes not even then - mostly he just shuts down and when he's awake he stares at the wall like Liam isn't even in the room.)

Louis is gentle and sweet, always greeting Zayn with a, "Hey, babes." There's a lot of cuddling involved but Louis tells him stories, too, murmuring  _remember when..._  and not getting frustrated when Zayn doesn't, which is often. Liam can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, because he's read about glioblastoma patients pushing close friends and family away if they feel their business with them is done, and Liam is terrified that one day Zayn is going to decide he's just done with Liam.

The doctors assure him that it's very unlikely - Liam is his primary caregiver, his lover, his best friend. He will, most likely, continue to identify Liam until the very end.

But Louis doesn't treat Zayn like he's dying, and hard as he tries Liam just can't do that.

 

 

Two weeks, three days and four hours into the New Year, Zayn has another seizure. It's worse, because Liam witnesses the whole thing, pressing desperate kisses to Zayn' forehead as he begs him, "Just keep breathing, c'mon, darling, I've got you, stay with me a little longer," after it's over and Zayn is crying and delirious.

Up until now, Liam's always seen a little spark of hope in Zayn' eye, but when Zayn reaches out to him from his hospital bed, tucking his face into Liam's arm and begs, "Please just take me home. Please, Liam, just wanna go home," Liam can almost see the light in his eyes go out, burning and flickering like a candle before collapsing into ash and smoke. 

He doesn't leave Zayn alone anymore after that. Mostly he's with him, but if he's not it has to be someone he trusts. One of the other boys, if it's a shorter period of time. Or Trish. Nobody else, though, and even with the aforementioned people Liam feels waves of panic washing over him the entire time he's out, from the second he walks out the door to the second he gets to see Zayn' face again. 

Zayn gets sad when he leaves. Liam does too, but he has arrangements to make, hospital bills to pay, doctors to question, so he picks up the charms hanging from the silver chain around Zayn' neck and kisses them.

"Now my love will be with you even when I'm not, and it'll keep you warm until I'm back," he promises. Zayn nods, believing every word.

And when Liam is out and worried, mind always chanting  _Zayn Zayn Zayn is Zayn okay is he awake or asleep is he eating is he happy does he miss me_ , he presses his fingers to Zayn' heartbeat on his neck.

It's not a perfect solution, but it helps.

 

 

"How is he?" is the first thing out of Liam's mouth after he's said hello to Niall, making a beeline for the chair where Zayn is curled up like a cat, presumably asleep and crouching down in front of him.

"He's been out of it for a little over an hour," Niall says sadly, fingers brushing along Zayn' arm doing nothing to rouse him. "Good until then, though. We watched  _Step Brothers_  and cuddled a bit. I told him I wouldn't tell you about the kissing if he didn't." Niall grins cheekily, holding up his hands defensively, as if to say,  _just kidding, please don't kill me._  "He kept talking about you before, though. Think he wanted you."

"'Course he wants me," Liam says, cupping Zayn' cheeks. "I'm his favorite. Right, sweetheart?"

Zayn makes a soft, pathetic whining noise as he peeks out at Liam through his lashes, nuzzling into Liam's hand like a kitten.

"Hey, darling," Liam greets him, kneeling down because it's easier for Zayn to concentrate if Liam is level with him. Zayn' eyes are glassy, and he wipes absently at his nose with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Do I get a goodbye hug?" Niall teases as he gets up to go, looking fairly flustered when Zayn laughs and tugs him down and wraps his arms around him, planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. "Bye, Zaynie." He gives Liam a hug on the way out, giving him the standard,  _Call me if you need anything._

When Liam returns to where Zayn is sitting, Zayn looks like he's about to cry, lower lip trembling and Liam wonders absently if he was feeling like this the entire time he was gone, just holding it in.

"Liam," Zayn whispers, sounding raspy and sad and Liam makes a mental note not to leave the room until Zayn is feeling okay again. 

"Yeah, babe. I'm here." Liam frowns, examining Zayn' eyes carefully to make sure  _he's_  actually here. "I think you're yellow right now. Is that right?"

Zayn nods once. "Sad," he whimpers before burying his face in Liam's arm, and Liam scoops him up, pulling the blankets off the chair before he sits down with Zayn in his lap, arranging the blankets around him neatly. 

"Why are you sad?" Liam asks, fully prepared to get nothing in response. Zayn is like that lately; unable to fathom  _how, why_ , even  _what._

So he's more than a little surprised when Zayn blinks at him and mumbles, "Missed you." He's fidgeting with the necklace Liam got him for his birthday, holding it so tight like he's scared it's going to disappear.

Liam's heart is truly in his throat now. "Oh, baby," he croons, pressing a kiss to Zayn' forehead. He can't stop kissing him nowadays, can't stop touching him, can't stop assuring Zayn that he loves, loves, loves him to the moon and back. "Missed you, too. Missed you more, in fact. Way more." 

Zayn bites his lip and shakes his head. "Not possible."

It's the most responsive he's been in a few days, and Liam wants to take full advantage of it. "Are you hungry?"

Zayn shakes his head. Liam sighs. Good things never did come easy. 

"Okay, let's try this again. If I make soup, will you try to eat some?"

Zayn nods this time, pursing his lips and gazing absently at the wall. Eating is hard, lately - he's never ever hungry and always so, so tired and the doctors have told Liam this is normal  _as time goes on_ , which Liam knows is code for  _as we get closer to the end_  but it's still terrifying, watching Zayn look like he's going to waste away into nothingness.

Zayn manages several spoonfuls of soup that night, snuggled up with Liam in bed while they watch  _Anchorman_. Zayn falls asleep halfway through, breathing soft and even but Liam keeps his ear pressed to his chest the entire night long, eventually drifting off to the even lull of Zayn' heart, the same one that's inked into the back of his neck. It's a good night.

It's one of the last good nights he'll have.

 

 

Liam likes sing to him, likes to tell Zayn stories. Zayn likes being read to, but he likes it more when Liam just  _talks_ , because his voice is always quiet and he never speaks too fast for Zayn to understand. Mostly, though, Zayn just likes to  _listen_ , and it's weird because Zayn is usually the one talking, filling the room with his presence but things are different now and Liam gets that and it's good. It's okay.

Liam just holds him close and whispers, "It's okay. It's okay, Zaynie. It's just a bunch of ink, anyway. What's important is that I love you, okay, and you love me too, right?"

Zayn nods quickly, pressing his cold palm to Liam's chest.  _Of course I love you_ , the gesture says. Liam kisses his cold little nose and lets him rest, waiting until he's sure Zayn is asleep to let his face relax and crumble.

He really doesn't want Zayn to see him cry.

Liam knows it's coming. It's been coming for a long time and frankly, he's gotten more time with Zayn than he ever thought he'd get since the day he was diagnosed, and he should be grateful but instead he's just angry, angry because he doesn't want to lose Zayn and angry because Zayn can't remember a damn thing anymore and one of these days he's going to wake up and forgot Liam's name and that's going to be it, Liam thinks. That's going to be the last straw, and he can't deal with Zayn dying not knowing who he is, not remembering every detail, every night they've spent tangled up together, every morning making heart eyes at each other over breakfast, every show with adrenaline pumping through their veins and love in their hearts, and.

Fuck. Liam can't do this.  _Fuck._

 

 

Zayn is alive on Liam's birthday. Liam can't believe it, and he sort of feels like the luckiest person on the planet.

"Didn't...didn't get you anything," Zayn says sadly, clutching the paper airplane and heartbeat charms tightly to his chest. His eyes are apologetic and almost embarrassed.

Liam almost crushes him with his hug, whispering, "You're here. You're here with me, Zaynie. That's the best present I could've ever asked for."

And it is.  

 

 

Zayn' eyelashes flutter. He thought he was tired, and he was. But this time, sleep doesn't take him immediately. It's strange. 

Liam's voice catches him off guard - it sounds harsh and broken and tired. He's not used to hearing Liam like that. Peeking out through his lashes he spots Liam sitting in the corner of the room, face illuminated in the dim light of the desk lamp, phone pressed to his ear, head down.

"Fuck, I don't know. He's getting really bad. Like, worse than usual. He's having a lot of trouble understanding the things I'm saying and he won't eat or drink anything. Fuck, it could be tonight. It's like he's just barely hanging in there." A pregnant pause, then, "Fuck, no. I'm not ready. I'm really not. I'm scared to sleep, because I don't want to...miss it. I'm scared that I'm gonna doze off and when I wake up he's going to be gone. I don't want him to be...like, alone. When it happens, you know? Just want him to be okay."

It's certainly not a conversation he would be having if he knew Zayn were awake, and somehow that just makes it even worse.

He doesn't want to die, except that he does.

But the thought makes him sad, so he just rolls over and squeezes his leaking eyes shut tight tight tight, brain imploding and exploding over and over again and he just wants it to be over. 

He hopes Liam can sleep tonight. 

 

 

They're on the couch, watching Big Brother reruns as hour-old, half empty cups of tea sit on the coffee table in front of them, cold and abandoned. Zayn is curled in Liam's lap, head pillowed by Liam's chest and the big blue fleece blanket he's cocooned in. Neither of them are watching the tv, not really - Zayn is drifting in and out periodically, long eyelashes fluttering against the blanket. He's so  _tired_. Liam is watching him more than anything else, one of Zayn' tiny hands in his larger ones, smoothing along his skin and cupping it in hopes of providing some kind of warmth.

"Liam," he mumbles, or at least he does in his head. Liam's eyes are still trained on the window, and it's then that Zayn knows that the words never actually left his mouth. Frustrated, he tugs gently on Liam's shirt, and that definitely works because all at once Liam's full attention is on him, fingers pressing against his forehead, smoothing his hair back, cupping his jaw. 

"Hey, boo," he says, enunciating each word so as to make it easier for Zayn to understand. He widens his eyes a little and tilts his head, as if to ask,  _what's up?_

Zayn closes his eyes again, presses his lips together, searching the mess inside his head for the words. It doesn't take as long as it normally does. A final stroke of luck, perhaps. "Just..." he starts, fingers curling tighter around the fabric of Liam's shirt, head throbbing as he struggles to speak. "Love you." The words are slurred together and very, very quiet, but he can tell from the look on Liam's face that he understands. Weakly, he tips his head up towards Liam and Liam does the rest, pressing his trembling hands to Zayn' clammy cheeks and whispering words to him that he doesn't understand, noses brushing and he blinks wearily, trying to muster up a smile of sorts but Liam just chokes out a sob and slots their mouths together.

It feels like home.

The relief he feels, though, after he finally spits out the words is the nicest thing he's felt in months, and he lets his eyes slip shut again with Liam's lips still on his.  _This is it, this is it, this is it,_ his mind chants. It's so comforting he almost doesn't feel Liam go rigid beneath him. Almost. Liam is talking, now, but there are too many words, too quick and frantic and Zayn is too tired to even try to figure out what they mean. It feels like he's falling down the rabbit hole, the world around him growing darker and darker and it's too exhausting to try to pull himself out even with Liam's help. He just wants to sleep.

 _Home,_ he thinks, pressing his face into Liam's chest and breathing in deep.  _Home._

 

 

It doesn't end with a bang like Liam has been preparing for. It's a whimper and a soft, breathy sigh, Zayn' frail chest rising once, twice, three times more and then everything is still, like the earth has stop turning on its axis. 

Somehow, knowing it's coming doesn't make it any less painful. If anything, it makes it worse - like every place Zayn has ever touched him is burning, flames licking hungrily at his blistering skin.

It takes him a long, long time to move, and even longer to get himself untangled from Zayn because he's trying to be careful. So, so careful -  _don't wake Zayn, don't wake Zayn_ he thinks. His fingers shake as he dials the number - he's got it memorized at this point, he's been ready for weeks - and his voice cracks a little as he explains the situation to the operator.

Zayn looks okay, at least - less tired, mouth slack. He looks like a kid again. Liam hopes he's not hurting anymore.

When the paramedics finally come, Liam is running his shaking fingers through Zayn' hair, just the way he likes -  _liked_ , he reminds himself, feeling another shard of his sanity crumble to the carpet - and it almost feels like normal. Almost.

After they take him away, Liam sits on the edge of the couch, shaking hard and clutching at his knees as it sinks all the way into his very core that  _he's never going to see Zayn ever again_ and he's put his fist through the drywall before his reason can catch up.

 

 

It's not until two weeks later when he wakes up cold and alone in bed that he remembers the note. The fucking  _letter._

He nearly dies tripping over his own feet on his way to the dresser, yanking out the envelope and clutching it to his chest desperately, head tilted towards the ceiling and for the first time since Zayn died he feels  _something_. Not a good something, but something nonetheless.

His hands are shaking so badly. He's scared to even look at it, scared because this is the last piece of Zayn he has. That's untrue, really, because he has all Zayn' clothes and pictures and his phone and his everything, but somehow this feels like  _it_ , the final nail in the coffin.

Liam's dry expression makes way for a choking sob as his eyes land on the front of the envelope - two crudely drawn stick figure boys, holding hands with a lopsided heart in between them, Z _\+ L forever!!!!!!!!_  scribbled in its center. Next to it is what appears to be the two said stick figures engaging in what Liam can only assume is anal sex and he can't decided whether to laugh or cry harder. Maybe both. 

Before he can remove the contents of the envelope, the doorbell rings.

It takes him a long time to make his way to the door, but when he finally is able to open it after flipping all the locks with shaking fingers, Liam is surprised to find Louis, Niall and Harry standing there, all with their left sleeves rolled up, grinning like mad and Liam wants to punch them for looking genuinely happy. He can barely remember what a smile feels like on his mouth, what it's like to not have a weight hanging heavy on his heart every second, like if he tries to just  _breathe_  for a second it's going to crush him. 

 _What's so great?_  he wants to ask, doesn't. When they hold out their arms for him, he gets his answer.

Tattooed on each of their wrists is a tiny  _Z_. 

 

 

It takes Liam a full ten minutes with his face buried in Harry's neck to stop crying and invite them inside. They all sit awkwardly in the sitting room, like they're not quite sure how to function without Zayn. Liam understands all too well.

"D'you want us to stay?" Louis asks in a low, level voice, like he's trying not to scare off a baby deer.

"Yeah," he says quietly, head still wrapping itself around the fact that Zayn' note is in his pocket and he hasn't read it yet. "Gotta take a piss first, though."

When he's finally in the bathroom he slams the door shut and presses his back against it, heart going a million miles a minute and he's scared that any second now it's going to just stop.

With shaking fingers, he pulls it from his pocket and slips it from the envelope, unfolding it and smoothing it against his leg. Something small and square slips out - Liam leans down to grab it, lips quirking up the tiniest bit at the picture. It's one he's never seen before, probably something recent from Zayn' phone. In it, they're in bed, Liam's chin resting on Zayn' chest, lips pressed fondly to his collarbone and Zayn is holding the camera out and grinning, all shaggy dark hair and tanned skin and bright eyes and Liam knows at once it's how Zayn would want to be remembered. 

 

_Liam,_

_I'm writing this while you're downstairs washing the dishes and I'm curled up in bed. Our bed. I don't like the thought of leaving it to just be yours - I've always been a greedy bastard, haven't I?_

_I don't know if you're reading this while I'm still here or if I'm already gone, but I kinda hope it's the latter because the other is just too embarrassing._  

_I'm really scared, Liam. And I know you're scared too but I am really, really fucking scared, and the intention of this letter wasn't to make you feel bad or anything but it just dawned on me that I'm writing a letter for you to have after I die, which is going to be soon, I think. And that's scary. But the scariest part isn't dying, exactly. It's leaving you behind. Don't wanna leave you behind to fend for yourself._

_I have to say this now, though, because it's too hard to talk to you about in person. Try to move on? Like, I'm not asking you to go out and get laid the second they've lowered my casket into the ground, but. Just don't stay in bed for weeks on end. Or do, if that's going to help. Just make sure to eat and shower and feed Loki. Don't do anything stupid. Keep in contact with the boys. They love you, you know._

_Before I forget - go give Loki a cuddle for me, because I love him, too._

_You said I was brave, but you're the bravest person I know. I love you, I love you, I love you. I've loved you since the day I met you and I will love you until I die and maybe even after, if there is an_ after _, you know, ~~besides rotting in the ground with maggots crawling out of my eye sockets. Is that too much?~~  Sorry, got a little carried away._

_It's just, I can't stop thinking about dying. I'm not scared, except that I am, but I'm curious, because what's after that? Peter Pan was always going off about how dying must be the biggest adventure of all, but I'm not so sure. What if there isn't an after? What then?_

_You probably expected this to be some horribly sentimental letter with me expressing my undying love for you, which it will be, but not yet. Oh, and now you just walked in on me writing this. Nice. I'll have to continue again later._

_Okay. So it's morning now and I'm going to finish this dumb thing. You're not wearing a shirt and I can see all your dumb tattoos. Here's a secret: I'll tease you for it till my dying day, but your feather tattoo is one of my favorites. You look hot, by the way. You're making breakfast. Egg on toast. My favorite. I hope you don't get offended if I don't eat much of it - it's nothing against your cooking, love, I promise. Dying just makes doing other basic things kind of hard. I don't want to die. At least, I think I don't._

_I'm gonna miss you so much, though, and you know what? Fuck it, even if there is no_ after _, I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you forever and ever and ever and now I'm really kind of sad, because I don't want you to throw your life away after I'm gone._

 _I love you. I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_   _I love you I LOVE YOU I want to wrap you in a blanket made out of my love. Here, I made you this sweater. It's made out of my tears. Haha! I hope you get the reference. If you don't, my love for you just decreased a little bit. Don't worry. I still love you so much it feels like I'm going to explode with it sometimes. Can't handle how much I love you, didn't know I could love someone this much._

_Thank you. Thank you for changing my life, for teaching me how to love myself and being there for me when I was at my best and my worst. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for moving in with me, thank you for making me egg on toast every morning, thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for being my home away from home since day one. Thank you for being someone I can trust, someone I can love unconditionally, and someone who loves me unconditionally in return. Because of you, I believe in soulmates. I might guide you, but you keep me anchored. God. We really are a couple of saps, aren't we?_

_I hope you and the other lads make more music sometime. I know you said you wouldn't without me, but I wouldn't be offended. I hope you sell a million more albums and then some, I hope you go on tour again because I know how much you all love performing, and I hope it reminds you of me. In a good way. Everything reminds me of you._

_If you do fall in love again, as many people do, just do me one favor. Don't let it be Andy. That's literally all I'm asking._

_Also, don't cut your hair. Ever. Or do, if that makes you happy. Just want you to be happy. Want you to smile, Liam._   _You're a good person, a really good one. You can do a lot of good things for some good people, Liam. You can move mountains, still the seas, change lives. I hope you take advantage of that._

_Maybe I'll see you again, in another life or something, where I'm the waves and you're the shoreline. There's some sappy quote about that, but I can't quite remember it. Look it up, you lazy bum. Maybe I'll see you again, when I've disintegrated and become part of the stars and you have, too, but even then I hope it's not for a long, long time, after you've lived your life in full and traveled and experience everything all over again and then some. After you've become a father and a grandfather and maybe even a great grandfather, with all that dumb health food you like. After you've seen all you've wanted to see and done everything you've ever wished to do and made number one on People's 'Sexiest Men Alive' list._

_I can't wait to hear all about it._

_Forever yours,_

_Zayn_

Liam's not crying, except he is, and he's sad and aching but he's so, so fucking happy. 

Opening the door, he steps out into the hallway. From downstairs, he can hear Niall laughing ridiculously at something and Harry shushing him, Louis groaning in defeat, the sounds drifting up the stairs and curling around him, dragging him closer. It feels a little like home. A new beginning.

Liam presses his fingers sharply into the imprint of Zayn' heartbeat on the back of his neck - like Zayn, out of sight but never out of mind. 

With Zayn' letter tucked safely in his pocket, Liam turns his face towards the sun and heads downstairs.

 

 


End file.
